LIBRARY 


CAilPORNiA 
SAN 


3oT=t 


"SHE   TOLD    HEK    INCANTATIONS   THERE." 


[Frontispiece.] 


ONTI    OKA. 


A    METRICAL    ROMANCE. 


BY 

M.    B.    M.    TOLAND, 

AUTHOR  OF  "SIR  RAE,"  "  IRIS,"  ETC. 


WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS 

FROM    DESIGNS    BY  W.  L.  SHEPARD. 


PHILADELPHIA: 

J.    B.    LIPPINCOTT    &    CO. 
1881. 


Copyright,  1880,  by  M.  B.  M.  TOLAND. 


TO    THE    MEMORY 

OF  MY   LATE   HUSBAND, 

HUGH   HUGER  TOLAND,  M.D., 

AT    WHOSE    SUGGESTION    IT    WAS   BEGUN,    BY    WHOSE   SIDE    IT   WAS   MOSTLY 

WRITTEN,     AND    WHOSE     APPROVAL     HAS     FURNISHED    THE 

STRONGEST   INDUCEMENT    FOR   ITS   COMPLETION, 

THIS    POEM 

18   AFFECTIONATELY    INSCRIBED. 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS. 


PAGE 

1.  "She  told  her  incantations  there"    ....       Fi-oi>ti*piece. 

2.  "  On  Adirondacks'  Highlands  gray" 15 

3.  "  His  jealous  anger's  flashing  light" 19 

4.  "  From  primrose  cups  and  daisies  pale"  .         .         .         .         .29 

5.  "Her  cousin  John  appeared  the  boldest  cliff  upon"         .         .       45 

6.  "  In  slumber  soft  reposed  the  queen"       .....       57 

7.  "  She  could  not  move,  closed  were  her  eyes"    ....       61 

8.  "  Her  kerchief  o'er  the  wound  she  pressed"     ....       69 

9.  "  Lay  Edith  within  her  father's  arms"    .....       73 

10.  "  He  read:  '  Arrested  De  Maury  on  the  ship  Vesper'  "  .         .  79 

11.  "  His  hands  he  pointing  towards  her  raised"  ....  83 

12.  "  When  Edith  noticed  them  their  joy  burst  forth"  ...  87 

13.  "With  one  impatient  hoof  he  cleft  the  mould"        ...  91 

14.  "  Edith,  my  darling — my  beloved — adored!".         ...  97 

15.  "  High  in  my  general's  favor  soon  I  stood"     ....  99 

16.  "Oh,  God,  can  this  be  mockery?" 109 

17.  "  Edith  beside  her  casement  stood" .         .         .         .         .         .113 

18.  "Farewell!  thy  horoscope  is  told" .         .         .         .                  .  116 

7 


O  N  T I     O  R  A. 


WHEN  searching  for  this  book  a  name, 
Onti  Ora,* — "  clouds  of  the  sky," 

Under  my  weary  glances  came 
And  lent  its  aid  to  mystify. 


*  The  Indian  name  for  the  Catskill  Mountains.— See  Lippincotis  Magazine, 
August,  1879. 


O  N  T  I    O  R  A. 


CANTO    FIRST. 


i. 


ON  Adirondacks'  Highlands  gray 

The  Hudson  Eiver  finds  a  source, 
And  winds  its  wild,  romantic  way 

Through  varied  scenes  along  its  course. 
Pictured  upon  its  surface  clear 

The  borrowed  tints  of  the  blue  sky, 
In  mirrored  landscapes  all  appear, 

From  valleys  fair  to  mountains  high. 


13 


14  ONTI  OR  A. 

II. 

Where  the  famed  Catskills  on  the  west 

Are  like  enchanted  castles  seen, 
The  river  with  a  broader  breast 

Flows  on  its  lovely  banks  between. 
The  old  estates  that  fringe  the  shore, 

The  mansions  proud  that  on  them  stood, 
A  look  of  princely  grandeur  wore, 

With  cultured  grounds  and  park  and  wood. 


in. 

'Twas  early  June ;  a  shower  of  rain 

In  torrents  fell  with  plash  and  dash; 
A  seething  flood  each  window-pane, 

A  mimic  fall  from  every  sash. 
Trees  spread  their  boughs  as  if  to  fling 

The  blinding  strands  of  silver  spray, — 
As  wild  birds  plume  their  dripping  wing, 

And  dip  and  skip  in  bathing  play. 


ONTI  OR  A. 


15 


IV. 


The  mountain  peaks  were  veiled  from  sight 
By  lowering  clouds,  that  round  them  hung 


"On  Adirondacks'  Highlands  gray." 


Like  thunder-scabbards,  black  as  night, 
From  which  the  swords  of  lightning  sprung. 


ONTI  ORA. 


Hoarse  muttered  curses,  low  and  deep, 
Storm  demons  raving  in  despair, 

And  groans  and  sighs  appeared  to  sweep 
Down  from  the  conflict  raging  there. 


Cold  grew  the  shadows  on  the  hills, 

And  fainter  gleamed  the  light  of  day, 
Like  eddies  on  the  mountain  rills, 

Dissolved  in  farewell  beams  away. 
More  wildly  raged  the  wailing  blast 

And  driving  sleet  like  ocean  foam, 
Over  a  stately  mansion  cast, 

That  stood  amid  the  deepening  gloam. 

VI. 

Within  a  spacious  library, 

On  every  side  by  books  enframed, 
Their  antique  bindings,  vellum  gray, — 

The  works  of  classic  authors  famed, — 


ONTI  OR  A.  17 

Law,  science,  literature,  and  art, — 
In  cases  carved  of  oaken  wood, 

Crowding  the  shelves  on  every  part, 
Ranged  with  imposing  titles  stood. 


Judge  Lee  Von  Emich  reading  sat, 

While  near  him  dozed  his  gentle  dame ; 
Beside  the  hearth  a  Maltese  cat 

With  wonder  watched  the  sparks  inflame, 
The  marks  of  her  wild  madcap  play 

Madam  Von  Emich's  knitting  bore; 
A  tangled  mass  of  worsted  lay 

With  needles  strewn  upon  the  floor. 

VIII. 

The  judge,  a  man  of  middle  age, 
Was  poring  o'er  some  law  debate; 

Slowly  he  studied  every  page, 
For  it  concerned  affairs  of  state. 
b 


18  ONTI  OR  A. 

His  brow,  the  index  of  his  mind, 

Was  furrowed  with  deep  lines  of  care ; 

His  well-formed  features,  calm,  refined, 
Illumed  with  light  of  genius  rare. 

IX. 

Remote  from  them,  in  softened   light, 

With  half-reclining  girlish  grace, 
Stood  a  young  maiden  tall  and  slight, — 

Of  noble  mien  and  winning  face 
And  mild  alluring  comeliness; 

Her  warm  dark  waving  chestnut  hair 
In  Grecian  bands  confined,  each  tress 

Rippled  in  golden  halos  fair. 

x. 

With  saddened  lustre  shone  her  eyes, 
Large,  dreamy,  shaded  deepest  blue, 

Like  veil  of  night  on  summer  skies 

With  brilliant   starlight  gleaming  through. 


"  HIS  JEALOUS  ANGER'S  FLASHING  LIGHT. 


ONTI  OR  A.  21 

Repelled  by  the  uncourteous  mien 
Of  one  beside  her, — with  affright 

She  had  in  his  dark  glances  seen 
His  jealous  anger's  flashing  light. 

XI. 

Leon  de  Maury  was  the  name 

Of  our  young  hero.     He  could  trace 
From  Norman  root  well  known  to  fame 

His  lineage  high,  his  knightly  race. 
His  father,  Judge  Von  Emich's  friend 

And  neighbor,  socially  lived  near, 
Leon  his  evenings  there  would  spend: 

A  welcome  guest,  and  none  more  dear. 

XII. 

Edith,  their  daughter,  his  first  love, — 
Betrothed  were  they,  and  not  a  cloud 

Had  interposed  its  shade  to  prove 
That  perfect  bliss  is  not  allowed, 


22  ONTI  OR  A. 

Until  the  coming  of  their  guest, 
Whose  courtly  grace  and  gallantry 

The  bane  instilled  in  Leon's  breast, 
And  whet  the  fang  of  jealousy. 

XIII. 

Hence  came  this  quarrel :   her  reply 

Was  blended  with  love-glances  kind, — 
"Leon!"  she  said,  "the  gloomy  sky 

Or  this  fierce  storm  o'erclouds  your  mind. 
Frowning!    not  so  would  cousin  John 

Return  my  greeting,  rueful  knight ! 
Fie,  Leon !     Tell  me,  have  I  done 

Aught  to  provoke  this  sullen  plight?" 

XIV. 

He  answered  sharply, — "  Since  he  came — 
This  Southern  hero — all  the  time 

You  dwell  upon  his  saintly  name. 

John  this,  John  that,  in  ceaseless  chime; 


ONTI  ORA.  23 

And  I  am  ever  forced  to  hear 

A  rival's  deeds  of  valor  sung 
By  lips  that  once  to  me  were  dear, 

When  love  on  every  accent  hung." 

xv. 

"Leon,  beware!"  she  cried;  "to  me 

Your  words  are  undeserved, — unjust, — 
Uttered  in  cruel  mockery, — 

There  is  no  cause  for  this  distrust. 
The  rights  of  hospitality 

And  kindred  love,  to  him  are  due ; 
He  is  above  your  jealousy — 

Nor  will  I  suffer  it  from  you. 

XVI. 

"  Take  back  your  ring  and  vows ;  they  prove 

But  galling  fetters  to  enchain 
A  plighted  troth,  devoid  of  love ; 

Take  them  and  go ! — be  free  again." 


24  ONTI  OR  A. 

She  stood  with  feeling  ill  suppressed : 
Her  wounded   pride  she  would  assuage  ;- 

With  yearning  heart,  and  heaving  breast, 
She  tendered  him  love's  golden  gage. 

XVII. 

He  waved  the  ring  off  with  his  hand, — 

The  precious  gem  fell  to  the  floor. 
"Edith!"  he  cried,  "you  can't  command 

A  heart  that  loves  to  love  no  more." 
His  words  were  spoken  bitterly, — 

"Edith,  forgive,  if  I  have  erred; 
I  will  not  be, — I  am  not  free; — 

Speak!   say  I  have  not  rightly  heard. 

xvni. 

"  Pause,  Edith,  ere  it  be  too  late, — 
We  are  betrothed,  and  must  not  break 

Nor  tangle  thus  the  web  of  fate; — 
From  this  delusion  bid  me  wake. 


ONTI  OR  A.  25 

Silent !     Oh,  shame  !   a  coquette  then, 
False,  fickle,  trifling,  heartless  one, 

To  harvest  thus  the  love  of  men, — 
Your  conquests  have  but  just  begun. 

XIX. 

"Edith,  'tis  strange  that  one  so  fair 

Such  false  pretences  e'er  could  nurse, 
For  'tis  dishonor  thus  to  snare 

A  trusting  heart.     Oh,  God !  the  curse 
To  waken  from  a  blissful  dream 

And  find  my  hopes  dispelled  and  dead, 
Your  promises  a  mocking  theme 

Of  pleasantry  in  jesting  said. 

xx. 

"  Farewell !    God  grant  through  future  years 
On  you  no  waking  grief  may  fall, 

And  blend  your  life  with  bitter  tears, 
And  blighted  hopes  your  heart  impall." 


26  ONTI  OR  A. 

He  paused  one  moment,  then  was  gone, 
The  fiercely-raging  storm  to  brave, — 

Nor  cared  he  as  he  struggled  on 
His  blighted,  weary  life  to  save. 

XXI. 

The  judge  had  finished  his  debate, 

Madam  Von  Emich  had  rewound 
Her  tangled  wool.     The  hour  was  late, 

The  fire  had  burned  to  ashy  mound. 
Trembling  and  pale,  Edith  drew  near. 

"  Father !"  she  cried,  "  Leon  has  gone, — 
Gone  never  to  return,  I  fear, — 

My  taunting  words  the  wrong  have  done." 

XXII. 

The  judge  exclaimed,  "  Edith  ! — in  tears  ! 

My  child,  I  do  not  understand 
This  lovers'  quarrel ;  cease  your  fears. 

Leon  will  not  renounce  your  hand ; 


ONTI  OR  A.  27 

He's  noble,  brave,  and  must  be  true, 
His  spirit  proud;    but  I  am  sure 

By  early  morn  he'll  visit  you ; 
His  anger  will  not  long  endure." 

XXIII. 

Her  mother  whispered,  "  Do  not  mind 

This  little  trial  in  your  way; 
Misunderstandings  we  all  find, 

Like  cloudlets  on  the  fairest  day." 
Edith,  relieved  by  what  they  said, 

Made  her  affectionate  adieu, — 
All  anger  from  her  thoughts  had  fled, 

And  left  her  love  unchanged  and  true. 

XXIV. 

Louder  the  deafening  thunder  pealed 
In  crashing  din  the  mansion  o'er; 

The  lurid  lightning's  flame  revealed 
The  slighted  bauble  on  the  floor. 


28  ONTI  ORA. 

Edith  replaced  the  pledge  of  love 
Upon  her  finger  with  a  kiss, 

And  silent  prayer  that  it  would  prove 
Auspicious  of  her  future  bliss. 


CANTO    SECOND. 


MORNING  awoke;  a  golden  sheen 

Of  sunshine  flooded  mount  and  vale; 


"  From  primrose  cups  and  daisies  pale." 

It  drank  the  drops  from  foliage  green, 
From  primrose  cups  and  daisies  pale, 

29 


30  ONTI  ORA. 

And  stole  from  webs  of  gossamer 
Their  tiny  beads  of  pearly  dew, 

Without  a  zephyr's  breath  to  stir 
The  fairy  meshes  stranded  through. 


ii. 

Edith  from  troubled  dreams  arose 

With  aching  heart  and  weary  brain ; 
She  wandered  forth  to  seek  repose, 

Her  wonted  spirits  to  regain. 
Through  deep  ravines,  'neath  shadows  gray 

Of  latticed  boughs  and  trailing  vines. 
Where  sunbeams  seldom  found  their  way 

To  sport  in  bright  prismatic  lines. 

in. 

By  the  pure  air  refreshed,  at  last 
She  paused,  debating  her  return. 

A  flock  of  pigeons  fluttered  past ; 

What  startled  them  she  could  not  learn, 


ONTI  OR  A.  31 

Till  in  the  path  before  her  stood 

A  woman  in  a  foreign  guise, 
Who  looked  the  genius  of  the  wood 

In  her  strange  garb  of  many  dyes. 


IV. 

Surprised,  bewildered,  Edith  gazed 

Like  mountain  fawn;  from  sudden  fright 
She  trembled,  panting  and  amazed, 

As  the  strange  figure  met  her  sight. 
A  hat  of  straw  with  drooping  plumes 

Sat  jauntily  upon  her  head; 
Her  garments,  silk  from  India's  looms, 

A  rich  and  golden  lustre  shed. 

v. 

Hers  was  a  tawny  beauty  rare, 
With  head  erect  and  stately  mien, 

And  large  black  eyes  and  raven  hair, — 
The  faultless  type  of  gypsy  queen. 


32  ONTI   OR  A. 

Edith  by  instinct  maidenly, 

Attracted  to  a  face  so  mild, 
Regained  her  native  courtesy, 

And  on  the  wandering  stranger  smiled. 


VI. 

Then  quickly  o'er  the  gypsy's  face 

Rippled  a  genial  answering  glance  : 
"Lady!"  she  said,  "thy  winsome  grace 

And  loveliness  all  hearts  entrance. 
Thy  fortune,  lady,  let  me  tell; 

I  joy  to  read  a  fate  like  thine ; 
Thy  future  life  I  know  as  well 

As  gifts  of  prophecy  divine. 

VII. 

"  Here,  place  thy  little  hand  in  mine ; 

Now  cross  the  palm  with  coin  of  gold; 
'Twill  make  the  planets  brighter  shine 

Through  which  thy  horoscope  is  told." 


ONTI  ORA.  33 

Long  gazed  she  on  the  shapely  hand 

That  nestled  coyly  in  her  own, 
Studied  each  line  and  threaded  strand, 

Until  they  all  to  her  were  known. 

VIII. 

She  said,  "I  see  thy  childhood's  dream 

Of  joy  and  gladness  glide  away, — 
Unruffled  was  life's  placid  stream 

Until  the  eve  of  yesterday. 
Venus  and  Mercury  have  told 

Of  him  thy  lover,  brave  and  good ; 
He  has  been  jealous,  proud  and  cold; — 

That,  lady,  you  have  understood. 

IX. 

"  Ah  !  here  are  clouds ;  nay,  mind  them  not, 
My  charm  can  drive  them  all  away ; 

And  here  I  see  a  darker  spot 

Obscure  the  brightness  of  thy  day. 


34  ONTI  ORA. 

I  am  a  gypsy:  in  our  God 

My  faith  is  firm;   this  gift  he  gave 

That,  as  through  life  I  onward  plod, 
Some  few  from  peril  I  might  save. 


x. 

"  I,  Sibyl  Metis,  have  the  power, — 

A  talismanic  charm  of  gold, — 
To  grant  to  thee  a  blissful  dower 

And  with  delight  thy  heart  enfold. 
Give  me  a  gem,  some  jewel  rare; 

My  amulet  will  work  the  spell 
"With  aid  of  thy  two  planets,  where 

The  reading  of  thy  fate  I  tell." 

XI. 

Edith  from  out  her  girdle  drew 

Her  purse,  and  coin  of  gold  she  pressed 
Within  the  gypsy's  palm,  that  true 

Might  prove  the  promises  expressed. 


ONTI  ORA.  35 

"  See !  thus  I  make  a  mystic  sign," 
The  sibyl  said ;  "  repeat  with  me 

The  magic  spell,  that  bliss  be  thine 
When  I  shall  solve  thy  destiny." 


XII. 

In  dialect  of  Romani 

She  told  her  incantations  there, 
While  Edith's  whispers  timidly 

Fell  like  response  to  murmured  prayer. 
With  curious  signs  the  gypsy  placed 

An  amulet  in  Edith's  hand, 
A  plaid  of  many  colors  traced 

Over  a  well-filled  tiny  band. 

XIII. 

"  The  clouds  that  now  obscure  thy  sky 
In  time  will  all  have  cleared  away, 

For  in  the  future  I  descry 

The  sunshine  of  thy  wedding-day. 


36  ONTl   OR  A. 

Thy  lines  of  life  are  strangely  laid, 
Deep  mystery  all  blended  through; 

Whatever  comes,  be  not  dismayed; 

Have  faith, — be  strong!  Lady,  adieu!" 

XIV. 

Edith,  her  fortune  told,  returned, 

Excitement  beaming  in  her  eyes; 
Her  cheeks  with  mantling  blushes  burned, 

That  half  betrayed  her  late  surprise. 
The  breakfast  hour  was  nearly  o'er,- 

"  Ah  !   here  you  come  !"  her  father  said  ; 
"  I  searched  for  you  two  miles  or   more, 

"Will-o'-the-wisp,  such  ways  you  led." 

xv. 

Madam  Von  Emich  smiling  sat 

Over  the  breakfast  to  preside, 
Not  e?en  forgetting  "  Flo,"  the  cat, 

That  watched  for  crumbs  her  chair  besida. 


ONTI  ORA.  37 

Edith  was  troubled  and  oppressed 

By  sad  forebodings  undefined ; 
A  deep  solicitous  unrest 

Had  forced  itself  upon  her  mind. 

XVI. 

Her  cousin  John,  two  months  that  day, 

Had  come  their  welcome  guest  to  be ; 
Brave,  handsome,  witty,  genial,  gay, 

Rather  a  dangerous  rival  he. 
Born  in  the  South,  for  the  "lost  cause" 

Four  long  and  toilsome  years  he  fought ; — 
The  strife  had  been  a  dreary  pause, 

And  his  young  life  stern  lessons  taught. 

XVII. 

His  father  was  the  brother  twin 
Of  Edith's  mother,  and  therefore 

Doubly  endeared,  ere  Cain's  dark  sin 
Of  brother  against  brother  bore 


38  ONTI   OR  A. 

Death-dealing  arms  with  sword  and  flame. 

He,  foremost  in  the  battle  strife, 
A  victim  to  his  zeal  became, 

And  in  the  conflict  lost  his  life. 

XVIII. 

His  mother  died  of  grief,  'twas  said, 

When  Peace  her  olive-branch  displayed, 
And  buried  discord  with  her  dead. 

John  Winstone  had  not  long  delayed 
His  promised  visit  North;   he  knew 

He  would  receive  the  warm  embrace 
That  as  their  kinsman  was  his  due, 

And  in  their  love  would  find  a  place. 


CANTO    THIRD. 


EDITH'S  fond  hopes  proved  all  in  vain, 
Leon  did  not  return  again. 
The  judge,  in  his  official  way, 
Condemned  his  slighting,  cold  delay. 
He  called  his  daughter  to  his  side 
And  bade  her  steel  her  heart  with  pride ;- 
"  You,  a  Von  Emich,  are  above 
The  wrong  imposed  upon  your  love ; 
The  fickle  Frenchman,  let  him  go: 
Guard  every  look  that  none  may  know 
You  cared  for  him. 

My  darling  child ! 

For  many  weeks  you've  scarcely  smiled; 
Go  walk  up  through  the  mountain  wood, 
The  morning  air  will  do  you  good; 

39 


40  ONTI  ORA. 

Thomas  shall  follow  you  anon, — 
Give  me  a  kiss, — one  more ;  begone !" 
rf 

ii. 

With  deep-drawn  sigh  her  answer  came : 

"  Dear  father,  give  me  all  the  blame ; — 

I  drove  him  hence;  but  I  will  smile, 

My  poor  heart  breaking  all  the  while, 

In  penitence  for  that  false  pride 

Which  banished  Leon  from  my  side." 

She  fondly  kissed  his  frown  away 

And  left,  his  wishes  to  obey. 

Her  father  called  her  cousin  then 

And  bade  him  walk  through  mountain  glen 

As  gallant  knight  and  guardian  true, 

Her  steps  to  trace  the  forest  through. 

He  had  good  motive  when  he  said 

That  Thomas  should  be  sent  instead, — 

A  trusty  servant  growing  old, 

Unlike  her  youthful  cousin  bold. 


ONTI  ORA.  41 

• 

Her  kinsman  she  had  shunned  of  late, 
And  blamed  him  for  her  altered  fate. 


in. 

The  judge  observed  her  manner  shy 

And  thought  this  stratagem  to  try, 

Which  he  concluded  would  be  best 

To  reconcile  her  to  their  guest. 

John  called  his  dogs  and  sauntered  forth 

(His  skill  as  guide  was  not  much  worth); 

The  setters,  in  glad  racing  play, 

Oft  led  his  footsteps  far  astray. 

Edith,  in  meditative  mood 

Seeking  a  solitary  wood, 

From  beaten  path  had  turned  aside 

Where  rushed  a  torrent  deep  and  wide, 

A  mountain  stream  the  cliffs  between 

Meandering  through  a  wild  ravine; 

The  droning  waters  overleapt 

A  craggy  height,  and  downward  swept 


42  ONTI  ORA. 

In  foaming  spray-shower  from  on  high, 
Like  web  of  floss  dropped  from  the  &ky. 


IV. 


Blithe  chorus  of  sweet  melody 

Trilled  back  in  echoes  glad  and  free; 

.^Eolian  harp  notes,  low  and  clear, 

Enchantingly  fell  on  her  ear, 

As  if  the  birds  with  rival  song 

Their  madrigal  would  fain  prolong. 

She  paused  and  gazed  with  anxious  eye 

In  hope  her  lover  to  descry, 

Sighing,  "  My  Leon  will  not  prove 

A  recreant  to  his  plighted  love ; 

He  will  not  leave  me  to  atone 

My  hasty  words.     Could  I  have  known 

My  folly  as  I  see  it  now, 

Unchanged  had  been  love's  sacred  vow." 


ONTI  ORA.  43 


She  looked  a  wood-nymph  standing  there, 

Bewildered  by  her  deep  despair, 

When  suddenly  a  call-note  clear 

Rang  out  upon  her  listening  ear; 

The  loud  halloo  still  nearer  came, 

Calling  repeatedly  her  name. 

Then  instantly  her  cousin  John 

Appeared  the  boldest  cliff  upon. 

"  Halloo  !  Diana !  sylvan  maid ! 

For  this  fair  chance  I've  dearly  paid: 

My  dogs  have  wandered  from  the  path ; 

I've  left  the  stragglers  in  my  wrath, 

And  let  my  fancy  teach  the  way; — 

It  led  me  here.     Sweet  coz,  I  say ! 

Behold  the  doom  of  Tantalus, 

To  be  so  near  and  sundered  thus. 

I  cannot  scale  the  mountain-side, 

Nor,  like  Leander,  swim  the  tide. 


44  ONTI  OR  A. 

Had  I  the  wings  of  Mercury, 
To  my  beloved  I'd  quickly  flee." 


VI. 

"Cease,  John!"  slie  cried,  in  her  surprise; 

"  A  greater  barrier  'tween  us  lies." 

"  Ah  yes,"  he  answered  ;  "  but  why  dwell 

On  past  misfortunes?  none  can  tell 

What  future  years  may  have  in  store ; — 

Please,  Edith,  be  yourself  once  more. 

Joking  aside,  sweet  coz,  I  fear 

I  have  intruded  coming  here ; 

Has  my  rough  humor  been  so  plain 

That  it  has  blanched  your  cheeks  with  pain  ?'' 

Like  athlete  bold  in  swift  descent 

From  crag  to  crag  he  nimbly  went, 

Till  with  a  bound,  all  barriers  past, 

He  landed  at  her  side  at  last, 

Beaming  with  health  and  exercise, 

A  merry  light  in  his  dark  eyes, 


"  HER   COUSIN   JOHN   APPEARED   THE    BOLDEST    CLIFF    UPON. 


ONTI  ORA.  47 

Quite  undecided  which,  to  tease 
Or  try  his  cousin's  mood  to  please. 


VII. 

He  said,   "  'Tis  time  we  should  return; 

A  sportsman's  prize  I  fairly  earn, 

Not  as  a  poacher  came  I  here, 

I  must  take  home  my  uncle's  dear." 

She  smiled  to  hear  his  sallies  gay, 

And  followed  on  their  homeward  way; 

His  ringing  laugh  and  chatty  cheer 

Fell  like  glad  music  on  her  ear. 

The  truant  setters  soon  appeared, 

With  whining  bark  the  hrushwood  cleared ; 

Their  drooping,  silken  ears  and  tails, 

Their  crouching  gait  and  plaintive  wails, 

And  each  imploring,  upturned  face, 

Gave  mute  expression  of  disgrace. 

When  in  their  master's  pleasant  mien 

No  sign  of  anger  they  had  seen, 


48  ONTI  ORA. 

They  fawned  on  him  in  sportive  play, 
And  bounded  on  the  homeward  wav. 


VIII. 

The  Gordon  Scot  was  black  as  night, 
The  other  brown  bedappled  white; 
Two  noble  dogs,  of  setter  breed, 
Trained  every  glance  to  know  and  heed. 
Edith  admired  the  graceful  pair, 
Their  supple  limbs  and  silken  hair; 
She  said,  ^How  beautiful  this  Scot! — 
So  glossy  black,  and  every  spot 
Of  richest  tan, — he's  good  and  wise, 
I  know  by  his  clear,  speaking  eyes." 
John  said,  "  I'll  give  the  dog  to  you, 
Edith;   he'll  prove  a  champion  true; — 
Here,  Shot !   down  charge !    allegiance  give 
To  your  fair  mistress  while  you  live." 
She  answered,  "John,  I  thank  you;  no, 
I've  not  the  heart  to  treat  him  so; 


ONTI  OR  A.  49 

Such  friends  devoted  must  not  part, — 
He  understands, — 'twould  break  his  heart." 
John  reassured  her  when  he  said, 
"Be  not  by  sympathy  misled; 
Shot  is  so  jealous,  he  can't  bear 
My  love  with  even  Grouse  to  share." 


CANTO    FOURTH. 

I. 

ON  mountain  ledge  of  mossy  stone, 

Near  where  a  rushing  torrent  strayed 
Through  gorges  deep  and  ways  unknown, 

The  gypsies  their  encampment  made. 
Sibyl  sat  gazing  on  the  sky, 

The  planet  influence  to  explore, 
And  solve  the  tangled  mystery 

In  murmured  words  of  gypsy  lore. 
Long  sat  she  thus,  her  brow  o'ercast 

By  gloomy  omens  that  oppressed ; 
Then  smiled  and  said,  "I  see;   at  last 

Her  weary  heart  will  find  its  rest: 
Ah !   thankless  task, 
Why  did  I  ask 

This  mystery  to  solve? 

51 


52  ONTI  OR  A. 

Her  planets  rise 
On  clouded  skies, 

And  in  their  gloom  revolve. 
"What  do  I  care 
If  she  be  fair, 

Gentle,  refined,  and  pure? 
'Tis  self  must  rule, 
I  am  no  fool,— 

Her  fate  she  must  endure." 


n. 


She  paused  and  heard  the  laughter  gay 

Of  gypsies  laden  with  their  spoil, 
Who  sauntered  up  the  rugged  way 

Singing  blithe  songs  to  lighten  toil; 
And,  as  they  gained  the  craggy  height, 

Assum,  their  leader,  gayly  sung 
A  tribute  to  the  shades  of  night, 

That  echoed  the  dark  cliffs  among. 


ONTI  ORA.  53 

And  the/\melody's  refrain 

Prolonged  the  music,  till  the  trees 
From  nightly  slumber  woke  again 

With  foliage  dancing  in  the  breeze. 

SONG. 

We  love  the  night 
With  star-gems  bright, 

When  hooting  owls  we  hear ; 
"Tis  then  we  reign 
O'er  mount  and  plain, 

Nor  lords  nor  laws  we  fear. 

Chorus. — Drink  to  the  night ! 
When  dawning  light 

Shall  shift  the  darker  scene, 
We  close  our  play 
And  hie  away, 

Away  to  the  woodlands  green. 

When  midnight  flings 
Her  sombre  wings 

Over  the  sleeping  town, 


54  ONTI  OR  A. 

The  gypsies  rove 
Through  field  and  grove, 

And  seek  their  own  renown. 

Chorus. — Drink  to  the  night ! 
When  dawning  light 

Shall  shift  the  darker  scene, 
We  close  our  play 
And  hie  away, 

Away  to  the  woodlands  green. 

III. 

At  their  approach,  with  queenly  smile 

Sibyl  received  her  loyal  band; 
For  well  she  knew  they  would  beguile 

The  weary  hours  at  her  command. 
"Play  timbrels,  dance,  and  sing  glad  songs, 

I  fain  would  rest  ere  dies  the  night," 
She  said,  "  for  joy  to  youth  belongs ; 

Your  mirth  will  sadness  put  to  flight." 
She  drew  her  mantle  o'er  her  breast, 

On  bed  of  moss  with  graceful  ease 


ONTI  ORA.  55 

She  sought  and  found  refreshing  rest, 
While  all  conspired  their  queen  to  please. 

SONG. 

Drink  to  our  queen  ! 
The  forests  green 

To  her  allegiance  own ; 
The  mountains  high 
That  kiss  the  sky 

Her  kingdom  and  her  throne. 

Chorus. — Sleep,  sweet  sleep, 
Silent  and  deep, 
Give  to  our  queen. 

She's  good,  she's  great, 
She  reads  our  fate, 

By  her  each  line  is  told : 
Here's  to  her  health  ! 
Here's  to  her  wealth  ! 

In  countless  coins  of  gold. 

Chorus. — Sleep,  sweet  sleep, 
Silent  and  deep, 
Give  to  our  queen. 


56  ONTI  ORA. 

IV. 

Ere  the  last  note  had  died  away 

Along  the  wild  and  deep  ravine, 
Of  the  sweet,  soothing  roundelay, 

In  slumber  soft  reposed  the  queen. 
The  stars  had  paled  in  light  of  dawn ; — 

All  silent  save  the  monotone 
Of  mountain  torrent  rushing  on 

Forever,  with  its  drowsy  drone. 
And  while  the  gypsies  take  their  rest 

We'll  seek  our  heroine  again, 
Whose  joyless  heart,  by  love  unblessed, 

Strove  to  conceal  its  blighting  pain. 


v. 


John  Winstone  by  his  jovial  glee, 
His  witty  sallies,  courtly  grace, 

From  every  selfish  motive  free, 
Won  flitting  smiles  to  Edith's  face. 


ONTI  ORA. 


57 


For  her  he'd  sing  some  melody, 
Her  harp  responding  to  the  lay, 

That  with  transporting  sympathy 
Wafted  her  thoughts  far,  far  away. 


lii  slumber  soft  reposed  the  queen." 


Of  all  his  songs,  one  pleased  her  best, 
A  ballad  breathing  love  so  deep 

It  touched  the  chord  in  her  pure  breast 
Of  hopes  not  dead  but  feigning  sleep. 


58  ONTI  ORA. 


BALLAD. 


A  soldier  from  the  battle  din 

Crowned  with  the  wreath  of  fame, 

The  fairest,  loveliest  bride  to  win 
O'er  Ashley's  borders  came. 


Chorus. — Fair  Lena's  brow  was  white, 

Her  cheeks  like  blushing  shells, 
Her  eyes  were  sparkling  bright, 
And  blue  as  Scotia's  bells. 


Her  lips  like  rosy  Cupid  bows 
To  match  the  young  god's  dart, 

Her  pearly  teeth  would  oft  disclose, 
When  drawn  by  smiles  apart. 

Chorus. — She  was  divinely  fair, 

The  soldier  wooed  in  vain  ; 
She  loved  young  Arthur  Dare, 
And  ne'er  would  love  again. 


ONTI  OR  A.  59 

Her  locks,  like  silken  gold  refined, 

In  sunny  ringlets  strayed, 
Like  beams  of  light,  all  unconfined, 

Around  her  shoulders  played. 

Chorus. — She  was  divinely  fair, 

The  soldier  wooed  in  vain , — 
She  loved  young  Arthur  Dare, 
And  ne'er  would  love  again. 

"  Think  not  of  him,"  the  soldier  cried, 

"For  on  the  battle-field 
Young  Arthur  fighting  by  my  side 

To  naught  but  death  would  yield." 

Chorus. — Then  hopelessly  she  cried, 

"  Arthur,   my  love !  for  thee 
Thine  own  affianced  bride 
Will  pine  in  misery." 

Then  off  he  threw  his  ample  cloak, 

Disguise  he  cast  aside, 
In  well-known  accents  fondly  spoke, 

"Lena!  my  faithful  bride!" 


60  ONTI  ORA. 

Chorus. — One  startled  glance  she  gave, 
Then  fainted  on  his  breast ; 
The  true  deserve  the  brave, 
God  their  true  love  had  blessed. 

VI. 

When  they  had  finished  the  refrain 

And  all  with  compliments  drew  near, 
Edith  concealed  her  hapless  pain, 

JSTor  let  one  sign  of  grief  appear. 
The  judge  was  satisfied  and  more 

That  such  discretion  she  had  shown, 
With  true  Von  Emich  pride  she  bore 

A  sorrow  that  should  not  be  known. 
"Shot"  was  her  escort  everyday; 

He  fondly  followed  her  at  large, 
On  rides  or  walks,  with  sportive  play 

And  gallant  pride  in  his  fair  charge. 

VII. 

One  moonless  night,  when  nature's  breath 
Suspended  hung  like  sultry  noon, 


ONTI  OR  A. 


61 


Edith  a  warning  had  of  death, 

A  palsied  dream,  or  trance-like  swoon  ; 

Of  troubled  fancies  it  was  born 

And  gleamed  from  shadows  of  the  night; 


"She  could  not  move,  closed  were  her  eyes." 

Before  the  waking  hour  of  morn 
Appeared  a  figure  ghostly  white, — 

One  hand  was  pointing  toward  the  wood; 
The  other  to  a  crimson  stain 


62  ONTI  ORA. 

Upon  its  breast; — awhile  it  stood, 
As  if  its  meaning  to  make  plain. 

VIII. 

She  could  not  move,  closed  were  her  eyes,- 

Yet  the  strange  spectral  form  of  light 
She  saw  in  agonized  surprise, 

Until  it  vanished  from  her  sight. 
Then  starting  from  her  sleep,  she  cried, 

"Am  I  awake?    What  means  the  blood 
I  saw  upon  the  phantom's  side  ? 

This  surely  cannot  bode  me  good; 
And  lives  there  one  to  do  me  wrong  ? 

"Was  I  awake  ?    No  !     I  have  dreamed ; 
By  grief  disturbed,  I  am  not  strong, 

Yet  like  reality  it  seemed. 

IX. 

"  'Twas  but  a  vision  of  my  sleep ; 
My  soul  is  sad  and  thus  I  dreamed. 


ONTI  ORA.  (J3 

Father  in  mercy  gently  keep 

Thy  erring  child,  unworthy  deemed 
To  quaff  her  cup  of  earthly  bliss. 

Oh,  grant  my  prayer !     May  heavenly  grace 
Protect  my  love ;  his  doubts  dismiss, 

And  sad  remembrances  efface  !" 
She  nestled  from  her  murmured  prayer 

Down  on  her  pillow  like  a  child ; 
Secure  in  God's  paternal  care, 

With  faith  sublime,  she  swee.tly  smiled. 

x. 

Her  soothing  sleep,  her  tranquil  rest, 

Dispelled  the  phantoms  of  the  night; 
All  fears  that  had  her  mind  oppressed 

The  warm  bright  sunshine  put  to  flight. 
Refreshed  from  her  long  morning  nap, 

She  found  her  mother,  although  late, 
Awaiting  her,  puss  on  her  lap, 

Watching  for  crumbs  beside  her  plate. 


ONTl  ORA. 


"  My  darling  !  you  are  pale  to-day," 
She  said  to  Edith.     "You  must  eat; 

You  starve  yourself  (Flo,  run  and  play)  ;• 
These  strawberries  are  quite  a  treat. 


XI. 


"  You  tarried  long  in  land  of  dreams ; — 

And  yet  your  gallant  cousin  John 
Is  later  than  yourself,  it  seems." 

"  Madam,  the  gentleman  has  gone 
Out  shooting  partridge,  if  you  please," 

Thomas  respectfully  replied. 
His  words  set  madam's  mind  at  ease ; 

For  John  in  sporting  took  great  pride. 
She  laughing  said,  "  That  will  explain 

The  startling  sound  I  heard  this  morn; 
It  echoed  through  my  drowsy  brain 

Like  tally-ho  and  huntsman's  horn." 


ONTI  ORA.  65 

XII. 

Edith  determined  not  to  walk 

That  morning,  for  she  felt  afraid 
Of  giving  cause  for  silly  talk 

Between  staid  Thomas  and  her  maid. 
Then  all  at  once,  by  impulse  led, 

She  called  for  Shot  his  run  to  take, 
And  followed  as  he  onward  sped 

To  where  the  falls  sad  echoes  wake. 
Their  walk  had  not  extended  long 

Ere  Shot  at  once  grew  wild  with  fear, — 
Sure  evidence  that  something  wrong, 

Some  great  calamity,  was  hear. 

XIII. 

He  sniffed  the  air  with  plaintive  wail, 
Then  urged  her  on  to  greater  speed, 

Or  cringed  and  howled.     She  could  not  fail 
The  dog's  great  agony  to  heed. 


QQ  ONTI   ORA. 

"  What  ails  you,  Shot  ?    I  fear  you're  ill," 

She  said.   "  We  will  go  home,  poor  Shot !" 
He  heeded  not  her  gentle  will, 

And  slowly  crawled,  as  if  he  sought 
Yet  dreaded  something  in  the  wood; 

Then  his  low  whine  was  answered  near ; 
The  sound  unearthly  chilled  her  blood 

With  uncontrolled   and  boding  fear. 

XIV. 

Shot  was  at  once  electrified; 

Swift  as  an  arrow  on  he  flew ; 
She  quickly  followed  her  wild  guide 

The  tangled  vines  and  brushwood  through. 
Up  near  the  fall,  its  bank  upon, 

Composed  as  if  he  calmly  slept, 
Lay  dead  her  princely  cousin  John. 

The  dogs  their  dirge-like  wailing  kept; 
Edith  at  first  transfixed  with  grief 

Stood  one  brief  moment,  then  she  tried 


ONTI  ORA.  67 

To  succor  him,  to  bring  relief, — 
Sadly  she  knelt  down  by  his  side. 

xv. 
Her  kerchief  o'er  the  wound  she  pressed : 

"  Shot ! — home !"  she  cried ; — he  understood, 
And  prompt  to  do  her  fond  behest, 

Swiftly  he  bounded  through  the  wood. 
They  found  her  gazing  on  the  dead, — 

Gazing  with  deep  despair  and  awe. 
They  deemed  her  crazed  from  what  she  said  : 

"John,  'twas  thy  spirit  that  I  saw 
Draped  in  a  flowing  misty  shroud ; 

Blood-stains  upon  its  bosom  white, 
Floating  before  me  like  a  cloud, 

It  vanished  with  the  dawning  light." 

XVI. 

*  *  *  *  *    ,__        * 

"Who  murdered  our  dear,  noble  John? 
Think  you  'twas  he  ?"    The  madam  spoke ; 


gg  ONTI  OR  A. 

"Where  can  lie  be?     Where  has  he  gone? 

It  is  a  deadly,  crushing  stroke 
To  the  De  Maurys;  they  are  wild 

With  hopeless  grief  and  bitter  shame 
That  he,  their  loved,  their  only  child, 

Has  this  suspicion  on  his  name." 
"  They  say  a  duel  had  been  fought," 

The  judge  replied ;  "  ill  will  he  bore 
His  rival ;  but  by  more  'tis  thought 

Revenge  has  paid  the  deadly  score. 


XVII. 

"It  is  most  strange,  for  I  have  learned, 

Before  the  murder  Leon  fled ; 
Had  the  base  miscreant  returned 

Much  scandal  had  been  left  unsaid." 
Edith  had  ventured  from  her  room, 

Where  by  her  grief  she  was  confined, 
And  overheard  her  lover's  doom 

With  burning  ears  and  frenzied  mind. 


"  HEK    KERCHIEF   O'ER  THE    WOUND   SHE    PKESSED." 


ONTI  ORA.  71 

"Father!"  she  cried,  "this  cannot  be 
That  you  were  saying ;— you  have  erred; 

Leon  from  taint  of  crime  is  free; — 
Take  back  each  cruel,  unjust  word. 

XVIII. 

"  Leon  loved  me  too  well,  I  know, 

To  so  revenge  himself  on  John ; 
'Twas  I  that  caused  this  hapless  woe, 

And  at  my  bidding  he  has  gone. 
Speak,  father!  all  your  words  unsay; — 

They  fought  not,  nor  has  Leon  fled 
Like  recreant  from  the  fatal  fray, 

Leaving  his  blood-stained  victim  dead. 
Father !  be  merciful  to  me ; 

To  please  you  I  have  ever  tried ; 
I  come  to  sue  on  bended  knee, 

No  more  sustained   by  my  false  pride. 

XIX. 

"  Leon  I  loved,  I  love  him  still ; 
My  coquetry  drove  him  away; 


72  ONTI  ORA. 

My  girlish  folly,  wayward  will, 

Would  not  relent  to  bid  him  stay. 
Dear  Cousin  John  read  my  poor  heart; 

I  thanked  him  for  his  tender  care ; — 
No  longer  can  I  play  a  part 

In  life's  dull  drama  of  despair. 
I've  faith  in  Leon, — he  is  true; 

His  innocence  I  will  proclaim; 
Dear  father,  promise  me  that  you 

In  your  high  justice  do  the  same. 


xx. 

"  How  stern  you  look !  your  trembling  hand 

My  brow  has  never  chilled  before." 
"Edith,  'tis  hard  to  understand 

What  you  would  have ;  pray  say  no  more," 
The  judge  replied;    "this  triple  woe 

Has  made  you  not  yourself  to-day. 
You're  faint!   some  water!     Gently, — so." 

Like  sculptured  form  of  marble  lay 


ONTI  OR  A.  73 

Edith  within  her  father's  arms ; 

The  grief  upon  her  face  impressed 
Enhanced,  idealized  her  charms, 

While  wrapped  in  her  unconscious  rest. 


\v 


"  Lay  Edith  within  her  father's  arms." 


XXI. 


"  My  darling  child  !    My  precious  one  ! 
She  never  will  awake  again. 


74  ONTI  ORA. 

See  what  our  heedless  words  have  done; 

Why  have  we  caused  this  crushing  pain  ? 
Oh,  God !   she's  dead !"  her  mother  cried, 

Wringing  her  hands  in  anguish  wild; 
And  all  in  ministrations  vied 

Ere  Edith  woke  and  faintly  smiled. 
Her  lovely,  classic,  changeless  face, 

Of  purest  alabaster  white, 
Found  in  her  father's  heart  new  grace, — 

He  whispered,  "Leon  shall  have  right." 


CANTO    FIFTH. 

i. 

TIME  with  his  leaden  wheels  rolled  on 

O'er  Edith's  heart,  by  grief  oppressed; 
The  judge  had  many  missions  gone 

In  hope  to  calm  her  wild  unrest, 

Her  deep  solicitude. 
Her  wasted  form  and  pallid  cheek, 

Her  ever-watchful,  anxious  eyes, 
Appeared  amid  the  gloom  to  seek 

Some  ray  of  light  that  might  arise, 
Some  harbinger  of  good. 

ii. 

One  night  there  raged  a  fearful  blast, 

The  thunder  muttered  overhead, 
The  skies,  with  blackest  clouds  o'ercast, 
The  driving  rain  in  torrents  shed, 

Warped  by  the  wild-wind  sweep. 

75 


76  ONTI  ORA. 

Thor  drove  his  bolts  and  clanked  his  chain, 
Mocked  by  the  echoes  far  away; 

The  lightning  to  the  weird  refrain 
Danced  in  and  out  in  fitful  play, 
As  if  to  "murder  sleep." 

in. 
There  came  a  package  to  the  door, — 

Official  papers  sealed  and  tied; 
A  look  of  much  importance  wore 
In  their  stiff  covers,  long  and  wide, 

Bespattered  by  the  rain. 
The  judge  the  document  received, 

Its  contents   scanned  with  studious  care. 
"  Edith  !"  he  said,  "  you  are  relieved ; 
This  legal  work  you  need  not  share, 
'Twould  only  give  you  pain." 

IV. 

Foreboding  evil  filled  her  heart. 

"Father!"  she  cried,  "don't  bid  me  go; 


ONTI  OR  A.  77 

I  feel  those  papers  have  a  part 

In  my  great  grief  that  I  should  know ; 

Don't  keep  me  in  suspense." 
The  judge  read  twice  the  papers  through 
Ere  he  could  frame  his  words  to  speak, 
As  if  their  purport  to  review; 

The  gentlest  way  he  fain  would  seek 
The  bad  news  to  dispense. 


v. 

"Read  them!"  she  cried;    "I  have  no  fear; 

My  cup  of  grief  o'erruns  its  brim." 
"  God  give  you  strength,  Edith,  my  dear !" 

He  answered.     "  They've  arrested  him ; 

For  so  the  papers  say." 
"That  is  not  all, — tell  me  the  rest; — 

See!  I  am  calmer  far  than  you. 
Give  me  the  papers  ; — it  is  best ; 

I  am  prepared  to  read  them  through; 
Dear  father !  don't  delay." 


78  ONTI  ORA. 

VI. 

He  read  :  "  '  Arrested  De  Maury 

On  the  ship  Vesper,  bound  for  France; 
She  had  just  cleared  the  port  for  sea ; 

We  found  him  by  the  merest  chance, 

And  have  him  here  detained. 
Those  who  have  known  the  young  man  well 

And  felt  great  interest  in  his  case 
Have  paid  him  visits  in  his  cell ; 

He  does  not  recognize  a  face, 

Nor  is  his  madness  feigned.' 

VII. 

"  Edith !  I  would  have  spared  you  this ; 

Let  me  conduct  you  to  your  room. 
God  bless  you,  darling!     One  more  kiss! 

Take  heart,  we  yet  may  lift  the  gloom ; 

Light  follows  darkest  hour." 
He  left  her  with  her  drowsy  maid, 

Who  marked  Miss  Edith's  altered  face, 


ONTI   ORA. 


79 


And  instantly  attention  paid, 

With  thoughtful  care  and  kindly  grace, 
To  the  fair,  drooping  flower. 


"  He  read  :  'Arrested  De  Maury  on  the  ship  Vesper. 


VIII. 

Silent  was  Edith, — deepest  grief 

Had  stilled  her  tongue ;  the  tidings  read 

Contained  so  much,  although  so  brief, 
That  with  them  hope  at  once  was  dead, 
Like  blighted  bud  of  spring. 


g0  ONTI  ORA. 

She  gently  waved  Marie  away, 

Who  answered,  "Please,  I  cannot  leave, 
Mademoiselle;  with  you  I'll  stay; 

I  am  afraid  too  much  you  grieve. 
Shall  I  the  madam  bring?" 

IX. 

Madam  Von  Emich  quickly  came, 

And,  bending  o'er  her  daughter  fair, 
She  murmured  softly  her  dear  name, 

Blended  in  a  maternal  prayer 

That  God  would  bless  her  child. 
Her  kindly  words  with  love  imbued, 

Her  soft  caressing,  gentle  hand, 
Her  tender,  fond  solicitude, 

Edith's  sad  heart  could  understand 
Amid  its  tumults  wild. 

x. 

Was  it  her  mother's  prayer  sincere 

That  soothed  to  rest  her  troubled  mind  ? 


ONTI  OR  A.  81 

Or  that  the  angels  hovered  near, 
In  holy  ministrations  kind, 

That  she  so  calmly  slept? 
Madam  Von  Emich  watched  awhile 

Her  dove,  within  her  downy  nest; 
Watched  till  she  saw  a  dream-born  smile 
Flit  o'er  the  lovely  face  at  rest, 

Then  turned  away  and  wept. 


XI. 

Why  did  she  ever  rise  again  ? 

Why  did  the  morning's  rosy  light 
Bring  naught  to  her  but  hopeless  pain, 

And  sorrow's  slow,  death-dealing  blight? 

Why  wake   to  misery? 
What  use  had  been  the  gypsy's  charm, 

The  many-tinted  amulet? 
It  had  not  shielded  her  from  harm  ; 

Accursed  the  day  that  she  had  met 
That  bane  of  destiny ! 


82  ONTI   ORA. 

XII. 

How  dragged  the  hours  in  weariness  ! 

Her  self-conviction  strong  became 
That  Leon's  madness  and  distress, 

That  brought  disgrace  upon  his  name, 

Were  caused  by  jealousy. 
One  little  word  that  fatal   night 

Of  explanation  would  have  made 
Leon  her  actions  view  aright; 

His  maddened  passion  would  have  stayed 
From  its  dark  tragedy. 


XIII. 

They  took  her  on  the  mission  sad 

To  visit  Leon  in  his  cell. 
She  found  him  sullen,  hopeless,  mad ; — 

She  cried,  "My  love!    all  will  be  well, 
God  give  us  strength  meanwhile." 


'HIS    HANDS   HE    POINTING   TOWARDS    HER    RAISED. 


ONTI  ORA.  85 

At  her  sweet  voice  he  turned  and  gazed 

One  moment  as  if  petrified ; 
His  hands  he  pointing  towards  her  raised ; — 

"  Avaunt !  thou  lovely  fiend !"  he  cried, 
"  With  thy  false  luring  smile." 

XIV. 

He  spoke  in  French,  "  I  love  her  not ! 

How  dares  she  speak  of  love  to  me? 
On  my  fair  fame  there  is  a  blot 

From  which  it  never  can  be  free, — 

I  am  condemned  by  fate." 
He  turned  away;  nor  would  he  deign 

To  look  upon  her  once  loved  face, 
Nor  would  he  speak  to  her  again, 

But  proudly  waved  her  from  the  place, 
And  scowled  with  loathing  hate. 

xv. 

They  led  her  gently  from  the  room 
In  mute,  unutterable  pain. 


86  ONTI   OR  A. 

The  madman's  cell — that  living  tomb — 
Was  Leon's  sentence  to  remain, 

There  without  hope  consigned. 
To  his  sad  parents  Edith  went 

Daily,  in  sympathy  sincere, 
During  their  son's  dark  banishment; 
Full  well  she  knew  the  moments  drear 
Their  lonely  lives  would  find. 


XVI. 

Not  once  since  that  disastrous  day 

Had  Edith  walked  in  forest  green; 
The  dogs  neglected,  hid  away, 

At  first  were  scarcely  to  be  seen, — 

They  would  their  kennels  keep. 
When  Edith  noticed  them,  their  mood 

Of  sorrow  passed  and  joy  burst  forth ; 
Her  kindly  care  they  understood, 

And  well  she  knew  their  faithful  worth, 
Their  strong  afifection  deep. 


ONTI  ORA. 


87 


XVII. 

The  judge  insisted  she  should  ride 

With  mounted  groom ;  then  Grouse  and  Shot, 

Watchful  attendants,  by  her  side, 
Their  recent  sorrow  all  forgot 
In  their  wild  racing  play. 


"When  Edith  noticed  them  their  joy  burst  forth." 


One  morning,  much  to  her  surprise, 
She  felt  new  sense  of  happiness, 


ONTI   ORA. 

New  light  of  pleasure  filled  her  eyes, 
And  sorrow's  sombre  clouds  grew  less 
That  darkened  o'er  her  way. 

XVIII. 

Her  thorough-bred,  Ben  Bolt,  a  bay, 

Sniffed  the  fresh  air  and  cantered  on 
With  dancing  feet  and  easy  sway. 

Not  far  upon  the  road  he'd  gone, 

When  he  at  once  stood  still ; 
There,  near  the  tree-embowered  wood, 

In  her  fantastic  golden  sheen, 
The  gorgeous  gypsy  waiting  stood, 

Like  ancient  Oriental  queen 
The  web  of  fate  to  fill. 

XIX. 

"  Lady,  God  greet  thee  !     Many  a  day 
Have  I  been  waiting,  to  explain 

What  I  have  done  the  spell  to  stay 

That  mars  thy  youth,  but  all  in  vain — 
It  was  thy  destiny. 


ONTI   ORA.  gg 

Through  the  long  hours  of  yesternight, 

I  read  thy  planets  o'er  again; 
The  clouds  are  passing, — all  is  light; 

Thy  meed  shall  come  from  grief  and  pain, 
Joy  wreathes  her  smiles  for  thee. 

xx. 

"  'Tis  written, — six  months  from  this,  hour 

Thou  shalt  become  a  happy  wife ; 
Bliss  unalloyed  shall  be  thy  dower, 

And  children  gladden  love  and  life, — 

Thy  horoscope  is  read." 
When  she  received  her  fee  of  gold, 

She  said,  "I  thank  thee,  lady  fair! 
My.  face  once  more  shalt  thou  behold;" 

Then,  like  a  meteor  through  the  air, 
From  Edith's  presence  fled. 

XXI. 

Ben  Bolt  had  stood  as  if  a  spell 

Was  wrought  upon  him,  till  she  left ; 


90  ONTI  OR  A. 

His  fine,  arched  neck  began  to  swell; 
With  one  impatient  hoof  he  cleft 

The  fern  and  moss-grown  mould  ; 
Quivered  his  flanks  with  nervous  dread, 

His  flickering  nostrils  wide  became, 
Nodded  his  restless,  shapely  head, 
His  ears  alert  and  eyes  aflame 
With  horror  uncontrolled. 


XXII. 

The  dogs  had  flushed  a  woodcock  there, 

And  set  him  in  the  dingle  shade; 
Of  the  strange  meeting  unaware, 

Attention  to  their  game  they  paid 

With  silent  watchfulness. 
That  interview  renewed  the  pain 

In  Edith's  breast;  her  pale,  sad  face 
Could  not  its  late  bright  glow  regain  ; 

No  faith  on  gypsy  lore  she'd  place 
To  lighten  her  distress. 


"WITH   ONE   IMPATIENT    HOOF    HE   CLEFT   THE    MOULD. 


CANTO    SIXTH 

i. 

"DEARLY  four  years  have  winged  their  onward 
way," 

Edith  soliloquized ;  "It  does  not  seem 
That  I  have  lived;  'twas  only  the  delay, — 

The  hope  to  waken  from  this  dreadful  dream ; — 
Total  eclipse  will  make  of  morning  night, 

When  shrouded  in  the  shadows  it  will  bring." 
She  stood  in  her  black  robes,  herself  so  white ; 

Etherealized  was  she  by  suffering. 

n. 

"  Why  should  the  anniversaries  of  grief, 
Dull  monitors,  awake  a  slumbering  woe  ? 

The  journey  of  our  life  is  far  too  brief 
To  live  again  our  sorrows  as  we  go," 


94  ONTI  ORA. 

The  judge  observed  when  Edith's  form  he  saw, 

As  she  her  solitary  musing  kept; 
And  greeting  her,  he  said,  "  By  nature's  law 
I    thought   that   you  in    morning    dreams   still 
slept. 

in. 

" '  A  dream,'  old  Homer   tells   us,  '  comes    from 
God.' 

If  so,  I  can  predict  for  you  some  good. 
That  I  should  dream  at  all  is  somewhat  odd; 

As  I  remember,  it  was  thus  I  stood, 
With  you  beside  me,  gazing  at  the  moon ; 

Diana  held  her  silver  bow  unstrung, 
Late  in  the  morning,  near  the   brightest  noon, 

Her  crescent  pale  among  the  sunbeams  hung. 

IV. 

"  The  sky  was  brilliant  with  its  sunny  light, — 
'Twas  one  of  summer's  warmest,  brightest  days ; — 

I  said  to  you,  '  My  vision  can't  be  right ; 
Phrebus  should  hide  Diana's  borrowed  rays.' 


ONTI  ORA.  95 

Delightedly  you  made  reply  to  me, — 

'  Father,  I've  wished ;  my  wish  I  shall  obtain ; 

When  the  new  moon  at  mid-day  we  can  see, 
The   sign    portends   that   we   our    hopes    shall 
gain.' ' 

v. 
"  Papa,  I  thank  you  !     'Twas  a  vivid  play 

Of  fancy,"  Edith  answered  ;  "  ne'er  before 
Have  I  believed  my  grief  would  pass  away 

And  sorrow's  gloom  enshroud  my  life  no  more. 
'Tis  not  foreboding  that  I  soon   shall  die ; 

But  in  the  sunshine,  in  the  morning  air, 
All  nature  with  new  beauty  greets  my  eye; 

My  faith  revives  that  God  will  answer  prayer." 

VI. 

And  as  they  stood  conversing  pleasantly, 

They  heard  the  rumbling  of  a  carriage  near : 

"  So  early !"  Edith  said,  "  Who  can  it  be 
At  the  De  Maurys  ?  Some  one  ill,  I  fear." 


96  ONTI  ORA. 

A  lengthened  pause,  and  then  a  joyous  scream ; 

She  grasped  his  arm,  and  cried  excitedly, 
"  'Tis  he !  'tis  Leon  !     Father,  do  I  dream  ? 

And  is  this  but  a  mocking  phantasy?" 

VII. 

Already  near,  he  might  have  heard  her  speak; 

Advancing  quickly  in  his  manly  pride, 
The  flush  of  deep  excitement  on  his  cheek, — 

A  moment  more  and  he  was  by  her  side. 
"  Edith,  my  darling — my  beloved — adored  !" 

Clasped  in  his  arms  she  fainted   on  his  breast, 
But  waking  soon,  to  consciousness  restored, 

All    fears    dispelled,  she    knew    her   love    was 
blessed. 

VIII. 

He  sat  with  them,  still  clasping  Edith's  hand, 
As  if  afraid  to  trust  her  from  his  sight, 

And  told  his  story :     "  When  at  your  command 
I  rushed  oft'  madly,  that  tempestuous  night, 


ONT1   ORA. 


97 


I  met  a  friend  of  mine  about  to  leave 

For  France,  to  aid  his  countrymen  at  war; 

Then  came  the   thought   that  I  could    make  you 

grieve, 
Nor  scrupled  I  your  happiness  to  mar. 


"  Edith,  my  darling — iny  beloved — adored  !" 
IX. 

That  you  would  grieve  I  hoped ;  I  took  delight 
In  your  remorse  and  torture ;  you  would  feel 


98  OAT/  OR  A. 

Yourself  the  cause ;  unmarked,  I  fled  by  night, 
My  heart  by  jealousy  grown  hard  as  steel ; 

I  joined  the  army;  fighting  did  me  good, 
Hardship  soon  softened  my  revengeful  ire; 

High  in  my  general's  favor  soon  I  stood, 
And  won  the  fame  that  soldiers  most  desire. 


"  The    star    and    cross  I  gained.      When    Peace 
once  more 

Spread  her  soft  pinions  o'er  the  spoils  of  war, 
I  yearned  to  visit  my  dear  native  shore 

And  slighted  loved  ones,  in  that  land  afar. 
I  sought  and  found  my  relatives  in  France; 

They  told  me  there  the  very  strangest  tale. 
My  aunt  received  me  in  a  swooning  trance ; 

I   thought   her  dead,  she   looked   so   cold   and 
pale. 


:  HIGH  IN  MV  GENERAL'S  FAVOR  SOON  i  STOOD. 


ONTI  OR  A.  101 

XI. 

"  "When  she  revived,  '  Louis  !  my  child !'  she  cried ; 

'  My  darling  !  darling  boy  !  noble  and  brave  ! 
Sadly  for  you  we've  mourned;  we  thought  you  died 

In  distant  land,  or  found  a  watery  grave.' 
Then  both  caressed  me  in  so  fond  a  way 

I  could  not  breathe,  so  great  their  ecstasy, 
Until  at  last  I  found  the  voice  to  say, 

1  There's  some  mistake ;  I'm  Leon  de  Maury.' 


XII. 

"  'Twas  hard  to  make  them  credit  me, — at  last 

They  both  exclaimed,  '  If  what  you  say  be  true, 
On  a  dark  mystery  a  light  is  cast : 

Louis,  our  son,  is  suffering  for  you.' 
Then  from  a  paper  crumpled,  old,  and  torn, 

I    read   in    French    what    you   too    well    must 

know; 
Nearly  four  years  my  name  had  Louis  worn ; 

My  folly  meted  him  the  direful  blow. 


102  OJfTI  ORA. 

XIII. 

"  Then  came  back  on  myself  all  I  had  schemed, 

And  grim  remorse  for  my  revengeful  pride 
Oppressed  my  heart.    Poor  Louis'  fetters  gleamed 

Like  haunting  phantoms  ever  at  my  side. 
His  parents  and  affianced  bride  are  here; 

Impatient  in  their  love  they  came  with  me. 
Pauline's  devotion  Louis'  heart  will  cheer 

When  he  from  unjust  bondage  is  set  free." 


XIV. 

He  scarce  had  ended,  ere  he  heard  his  name 

Called  by  his  mother  in  her  gentle  way: 
"  Ah,  truant !  how  you  slight  our  older  claim, 

That  you  at  love's  behest  so  long  delay !" 
She  greeted  Edith  with  affection  deep. 

"Leon,"  she  said,  "they  wait  at  home  for  you; 
Asylum  bars  their  prisoner  must  not  keep, 

When  you  the  bolts  so  quickly  can  undo." 


ONTI  ORA.  103 

XV. 

When  they  had  gone,  the  judge  in  merry  mood 

Exclaimed,  "Dear  Edith,  tell  mamma  my  dream ; 
And  let  its  meaning  so  be  understood ; 

Visions  prophetic  through  my  fancy  gleamed. 
I'm  not  poetic  with  a  frenzied  mind, 

Nor  superstitious,  nor  astronomer; — 
Edith,  my  darling,  in  its  reading  find 

That  once  a  dream  of  sunshine  did  not  err." 


CANTO     SEVENTH. 

i. 

THE  old  asylum  stood  alone 

In  which  poor  Louis  was  confined; 
A  massive  pile  of  granite  stone, 

Where  strength  and  beauty  were  combined. 
His  room  the  best;  a  trailing  vine 

Stranded  the  window  bars  between, 
And  fragrant  flower  of  eglantine 

Peeped  blushing  "mid  the  foliage  green. 

II. 

He  just  had  finished  his  repast, 

And  musing  sat  in  revery; 
Little  he  dreamed  'twould  be  the  last 

Of  prison  life  that  he  would  see. 

105 


106  ONTI  OR  A. 

He  sighed,  "  They  all  believe  me  dead ; 

They  cannot  know  my  unjust  doom, 
Buried  alive,"  he  sadly  said, 

"  In  this  my  hapless,  lonely  tomb." 

in. 

"  Dear  Louis !"  were  the  words  he  heard 

Through  his  half-open  casement  low. 
"  Listen !"  he  cried,  "  my  mocking-bird, 

The  only  one  my  name  can  know." 
The  bird  was  hanging  near  his  chair, 

With  ruffled  plumage  chirping  clear ; 
His  plaintive  note  rung  on  the  air, 

When  Louis'  voice  he  chanced  to  hear. 


IV. 

Then,  from  the  casement  as  he  turned, 
His  yearning  gaze  on  distant  view, 

Familiar  faces  he  discerned, 

And  forms  appeared  that  well  he  knew. 


ONTI  ORA.  107 

'Twas  fortunate  that  timely  glance 
Prepared  his  mind  for  future  weal; 

Sometimes  unlooked-for  pleasures  chance 
To  break  the  heart  they  come  to  heal. 

V. 

No  words  can  paint  the  blissful  scene, 

The  rapture  unrestrained  and  wild, 
That  marked  the  meeting  there  between 

The  parents  and   their  long-lost  child. 
Leon  and  Louis  wondering  gazed 

Each  at  the  other's  face  awhile; 
Both  were  surprised,  perplexed,  amazed, 

Nor  could  resist  a  puzzled  smile. 


VI. 


"Louis,"  said  Leon,  "love  and  war 
Are  themes  that  we  will  not  dispute; 

While  you  were  pent  by  bolts  and  bar 
In  Gallia's  cause,  your  substitute, 


108  ONTI  ORA. 

I  fought,  and  God  preserved  me  whole. 

Nor  have  I  dimmed  your  noble  name; 
I  think  I  your  advancement  stole, 

Beside  your  star  and  cross  of  fame, 

VII. 

"  Marked  '  L.  de  Maury ;'  here  they  are. 

The  cross  I  keep  in  penitence ; 
Take  this,  'tis  yours, — the  jewelled  star! 

For  prisoned  years  small  recompense. 
'Tis  all  made  plain, — I  understand 

The  cordial  greeting  I  received 
From  the  brave  general  in  command, 

Rendered  to  you  as  he  believed." 

VIII. 

Then  Louis'  mother  whispering  said, 
"  Pauline  is  here,  unchanged  and  true ; 

While  we  all  mourned  for  you  as  dead 
She  hopefully  awaited  you." 


ONTI  OR  A. 


109 


"  Mother !"  he  cried,  "  oh,  do  you  mean 

Those  words  ? — '  unchanged  and  true'  to  me  ! 

She  here  !     My  own  beloved  Pauline ! 
Oh,  God,  can  this  be  mockery? 


"Oh,  God,  can  this  be  mockery?" 


IX. 


"  Many  the  letters  I  have  sent, 

Nor  would  I  she  my  doom  should  know; 
Quite  sure  am  I  my  letters  went, — 

At  least  the  doctor  told  me  so, — 


110  ONTI  ORA. 

But  never  came  an  answering  word : — 

O 

Vainly  I  strove  the  cause  to  trace; 

I  thought  my  sad  mischance  she  heard, 

And  I  had  fallen  from  her  grace." 

x. 

He  paused  awhile,  and  then  reviewed 

The  dire  mishap  that  brought  him  there, 
That  had  declared  his  hands  imbrued 

With  blood;    his  anguish,  his  despair, 
And  all  his  lonely  prisoned  years; 

Then,  banishing  oppressive  thought, 
He  dashed  away  unbidden  tears 

And  said,  "  My  bliss  is  cheaply  bought. 

XI. 

"  Our  ship  had  scarcely  touched  the  shore 
When  the  exciting  news  I  learned 

That  France  against  all  Prussia  bore 
Offensive  war;  my  valor  burned 


ONTI  ORA.  Ill 

To  join  my  regiment  again. 

I  took  my  passage  that  same  night; 
And  when  detained,  my  rage  and  pain 

My  reason  nearly  put  to  flight. 

XII. 

"Nor  dreamed  I  that  my  face  and  name 

Had  living  counterpart  so  true; 
That  as  your  double  I  became 

The  substitute,  Leon!  for  you, 
"While  you  for  me  great  hardships  bore, 

During  the  cruel  siege  of  France ; 
Thank  God !   the  tragedy  is  o'er ; 

Past  gloom  our  present  joys  enhance." 

XIII. 

Edith  at  once  must  sympathize, 

On  her  first  meeting,  with  Pauline, 

Whose  earnest,  anxious,  dreamy  eyes 
Shadowed  the  sorrow  she  had  seen. 


112  ONTI  ORA. 

Pauline  knew  Edith's  story  well, 
Pictured  by  Leon's  partial  tongue; 

Of  her  great  beauty  he  would  tell, 
Her  truth  and  virtues  all  he  sung. 


XIV. 

'Twas  morning,  brightest  of  the  year ; 

Edith  beside  her  casement  stood, 
When  all  at  once  who  should  appear 

But  Sibyl,  genius  of  the  wood. 
Edith  waved  her  a  mute  command; 

Unushered,  quickly  by  her  side 
The  gypsy  came.     She  took  her  hand 

And  said,  "  God  bless  thee,  lovely  bride  ! 

xv. 

"  To  solve  the  mystery  I  came 

That  clouds  upon  thy  life  have  cast; 

The  death  of  one  whose  honored  name 
Lives  in  sad  memory  of  the  past. 


"EDITH  BESIDE  HER  CASEMENT  STOOD. 


ONTI  OR  A.  115 

'Twas  accidental : — in  his  sport 
His  gaze  on  distant  game  intent, 

He  fell,  and  at  his  gun's  report 
I  quickly  to  his  succor  went. 

XVI. 

"  It  was  too  late,  quite  dead  he  lay : 

The  shot  had  pierced  his  young  heart  through ; — 
I  lifted  him,  yet  dared  not  stay  : 

'Twould  be  unsafe.     Lady,  I  knew 
Our  race  adjudged  to  be  a  bane ; 

Had  I  my  knowledge  then  made  known, 
That  he  by  accident  was  slain, 

Guilt  on  the  gypsies  had  been  thrown. 

XVII. 

"  This  is  thy  wedding  day  foretold, 
Dispelled  is  now  all  boding  gloom ; 

Nor  could  I  longer  from  thee  hold 
The  secret  shrouded  in  his  tomb; 


116 


ONTI  ORA. 


My  tingling  blood  made  known  to  me, 
The  morning  on  which  first  we  met, 

The  part  mysterious  destiny 
To  me  in  thy  misfortunes  set. 


"Farewell!  thy  horoscope  is  told." 


XVIII. 


A  sacred  wish  was  granted  me, 
The  boon  of  grace  to  bless  thy  life : 


ONTI  ORA.  H7 

From  sorrow  evermore  be  free, 
Wedded  in  love,  an  honored  wife. 

Thrice,  lady,  I  thy  path  have  crossed ; 
In  gypsies'  queen  no  foe   behold : 

Kind  words  to  us  are  never  lost ; 
Farewell !  thy  horoscope  is  told." 


THE   END. 


